Summer Storms
by DolbyDigital
Summary: It started with two strangers taking cover from a storm, and ended with the accidental theft of a jacket.


**A/N** – I'm tired, I've had a lot of caffeine and this is not at all how I planned for this story to go.

* * *

Thunder rumbled loudly, disrupting the stillness of the air. And then the rain began.

" _Shit shit shit,"_ he mumbled to himself as he ran through the crowded street looking for cover. By the time he finally managed to reach the Leaky Cauldron he was already soaked through, his shirt almost see-through and sticking to his skin, his usually neat hair falling in messy strands over his face and sticking to his cheeks.

"Looks like someone got caught out in the rain," a cheerful voice proclaimed from the table beside the door.

"No shit!" Who did this idiot think he was?

"Hey, there's no need for that," the man said in the same tone. He wasn't particularly tall – quite a bit shorter than Draco – but well muscled; _he wasn't particularly bad to look at_ , Draco thought absently, _though he'd be a lot more attractive if he'd just stop talking._ "Here, take this." He was shrugging out of his leather jacket – _and who wore leather in summer, anyway? –_ before Draco fully understood what was going on.

"No, I don't want your-" Draco snapped, but the man was already throwing his jacket around Draco's shoulders. "What good is that going to do? I'm already soaked."

"Calm down, I'm helping you," the man placated; at least he probably _thought_ he was being placating.

"You most certainly are _not_ helping! You're just getting your jacket wet." Draco glared at the stranger, who seemed completely undeterred.

"Aw, you do care," he ginned with half his mouth. "But seriously, it'll warm you up."

"Fine," Draco hissed through gritted teeth. If this idiot didn't care that his jacket was probably going to get ruined, then why should he?

"C'mon, sit down," the man was ushering Draco into a seat before he'd even finished talking. "Have a drink with me until the rain lets up," he pushed Draco down into a vacant seat with a hand on his shoulder – _presumptuous bastard_. "What were you doing out in just a t-shirt, anyway?"

"How was I supposed to know it was going to rain?" He tried to keep the anger in his voice, but he feared it may have come across more sulkily than he'd intended.

"Oh, that's okay. We can't all be good at Divinations." Draco wanted to slap the smile off his face; no one had any right to be that happy _all the bloody time_.

"Divination's a joke. Only an idiot would take it seriously."

"Really? I live my life by it." For the life of him, Draco couldn't tell if he was being serious. It must have shown on his face, though, because the man – _maybe he should ask his name?_ – laughed and said, "It was a joke, mate."

"I am not your _mate_ ," Draco sneered. "And it wasn't funny."

"Oh, lighten up."

"When's this rain going to stop?" Draco said with an annoyed glance towards the window, wrinkling his nose at the dirty smudges – _people seriously came here voluntarily?_

"How should I know?" The man shrugged. "It's relaxing, though, isn't it?" Draco glared at him as a loud crash of thunder echoed through the sky. "Oh, c'mon! It's nice. It's like we're insignificant in the grand scheme of things."

"I am not _insignificant,_ " Draco said with a haughty sniff.

"Oh, no, of _course_ not," he said, holding up his hands, palms flat. _Was that sarcasm? Bastard._

"You're not particularly pleasant company."

"Bit of a hypocrite, aren't we- Sorry, what was your name?"

"I didn't tell you," Draco replied flatly.

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"Why not?" _Why should he?_ "I'm Charlie. See? It's not hard." _Charlie,_ Charlie... _Did he know a Charlie? He didn't think so. But why did it sound so familiar?_ Draco shrugged the feeling off.

"I don't see why it's any of your business," Draco said instead.

"Hey, I saved you from the storm!"

"No you didn't. You were just in the way when I tried to get through the door."

"And I gave you the very clothes from my back," Charlie continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"You gave me a leather jacket, which you have absolutely no business wearing in the middle of summer. And you can have it-" Draco began to shrug out of the jacket; he had no idea why he'd kept it on so long – _honestly._

"Hey, can I get you guys anything?" He was interrupted by a bored looking witch.

"Do you normally have people waiting on tables in a pub?" Draco snapped, momentarily forgetting about the jacket.

"Look, we're really busy, so if you're not going to order anything-" she matched his tone.

"Hey, sorry about him," Charlie interjected – _and since when did he speak for Draco?_ "We'll have two Butterbeers, please." The woman practically melted at his smile – well, now he knew her real reason for coming over; Draco was not so easy.

"Butterbeer? I'm not a child."

"Two Butterbeers, please," Charlie repeated. _Twat_.

"Right away, sir," the woman winked – _winked_ – at him before leaving.

"So, should I just make up a name for you then?" Charlie asked, and all thoughts of the woman instantly left his mind.

"No."

"Well, what should I call you?" Charlie tried a different approach.

"Why do you need to call me anything?"

"I thought you weren't insignificant?" Draco smirked. "Oh, shut up. You're a right twat, I hope you know that." He _was the twat?_

By the time the storm finally began to pass, Draco was nursing his second Butterbeer – Charlie was on his fifth; Draco had no idea how – _those things were_ sickeningly _sweet._

"Hey, weather's clearing up," Charlie noted.

"Yeah," Draco said. He felt an odd reluctance to leave; he had no idea where that came from – _he had things to do._ "I should probably get going." He reached into his pocket with the intent of pulling out some coins.

"No, it's okay. I got it," Charlie said. Draco almost objected – _he could pay for himself_ – but, if Charlie wanted to spend his money on a stranger, who was he to stop him?

"Thanks. I guess I'll see you later." Draco winced. _See you later? What the hell was that supposed to mean?_ Charlie seemed to take it as encouragement, though.

"Will you tell me your name now?" He considered not answering, but what harm could it do? It was unlikely they'd ever meet again – despite what he may have accidentally implied – and – _dammit_ – the idiot wasn't bad to look at.

"Draco," he answered curtly.

"Draco, huh? My brother went to school with someone called Draco. A right pillock, apparently."

 _Shit._


End file.
